At Least It Was Here
by aFineMess5
Summary: Niles and CC both find what they're looking for. R&R!
1. Part I

__[Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine; they belong to others who abused them with too little screen time.]

_At Least It Was Here_

Part One  
CC clutched her heavy leather briefcase in her left hand, then switched to her right. She toyed a few moments with holding it in both hands in front of her, but that felt awkward. _No more awkward than him opening the door and seeing me switching this stupid briefcase from hand to hand_, CC reasoned silently.

She hadn't wanted to carry the briefcase. This was entirely her father's doing. Ever since she'd bargained with her mother to attend college with the promise that she'd find a husband there, CC had been forced to forge a relationship with her father. It wasn't that she'd actively _not _looked for one, but it certainly hadn't been her priority. Thus, as a fairly ambitious young woman, she didn't work towards something that wasn't a priority and a husband was nowhere to be found.

Her mother was livid but, in a truly Babcock fashion, had commended CC's cunning in making a promise she'd never intended to keep. She'd grudgingly admitted that CC was, after all, her father's daughter. That was when the compliments stopped and the threats began, the foremost being _disinheritance_.

As a blue-blooded child of a fortune rooted in many different money-making sectors, disinheritance was a constant threat to her and her siblings. Her brother Noel had once quipped that threatening disinheritance was like sex: even if you weren't entirely invested in it, it was still moderately effective. So, CC had gone to her father who'd done his best to assuage her fears…and then, in another truly Babcock fashion, had worked the scheme to his advantage.

He'd keep BB Babcock at bay, he promised…if CC lived up to her potential and became a business mogul to increase the Babcock fortune even more. During this exhausting conversation—as all conversations with either parent often were—CC immediately ran through everything Babcock, Inc., had dabbled in. He hadn't left CC with many options.

"What should I become the next _mogul _in, Father?" CC asked drolly. "Beans? You know, nobody gives the lima bean its due."

"Don't be silly, kitten," Stuart Babcock had replied. "We've thoroughly covered the bean industry."

CC rolled her eyes and wondered if maybe she ought to return to grad school to find a husband.

"I know," Stuart said with a smile. Instead of being warm and comforting, as a father's smile should be, Stuart Babcock possessed a singularly CEO-esque smile that neither warmed nor comforted. Instead, it put a person on the edge of his seat, rather like a fish about to be hooked against its will. "How about the arts? That might even please your mother."

CC perked up at that. She'd taken a full load nearly every semester just to squeeze in an art history class. "You mean museums and such? I'd love to get into that sort of—"

"Oh, no, no," Stuart disregarded immediately. "You have such an adorable sense of humor. I was thinking of something a little more lucrative. How about the theater?"

CC grimaced slightly. "The theater? Come on, Father. It's dying."

Stuart shook his head. "This is a true businessman's dream." _Businesswoman_, CC supplied in her head. "Take something seemingly inaccessible to most, like the theater. Revamp it, present it like a new product, and watch the people come in droves. It would look so nice on the letterhead, too. Everyone loves a company that's invested in the arts."

_Is it considered "invested in" if we're only looking to make a profit? _CC wondered.

Despite her misgivings, it proved to be the only way to secure the money she had coming for her. And so CC had set out to contact her friend from prep school who, according to her father, had married a British up-and-comer with his eyes set on the theater. CC had scoffed when she'd read the list of duds he'd attempted to produce but she couldn't help admiring his ambition.

"He needs a secretary," Stuart had finished with a flourish, grinning expectantly at his youngest daughter.

"A secretary," CC repeated.

"That's right."

"I graduated _summa cum laude _from Columbia with a finance degree to become…a secretary."

Stuart sighed the wearisome sigh of a teacher with so much to teach in so little time. "Kitten, you're a Babcock. Apply to be his secretary and during the interview, convince him he needs a partner."

"That seems a little…forward."

"Are you a Babcock?" was all Stuart deigned to say.

Before CC had left his palatial office, her father gave her the cumbersome briefcase she carried now. "All businessmen need an impressive briefcase," he'd told her. She'd had to bite back a retort about size and penis metaphors, whispering _disinheritance _to herself over and over. Instead, she'd smiled and accepted the hideous monstrosity.

She finally shifted it to her left hand and stood still in time for the front door to open.

CC looked past the servant who'd opened the door and surveyed the house that lay behind it. She wasn't particularly impressed; it spoke of old-world wealth and an obvious desire to display the cost of everything that was there. Most of all, it spoke of money, and it reminded CC who she was.

"Maxwell Sheffield," was all she said, stepping around the butler and walking through the vestibule. She thought she heard him mutter something as he walked away but she paid no more mind to it than she would a passing moth.

"CC!" a voice greeted warmly. A slender woman with dark blonde hair rushed over to CC and embraced her, albeit awkwardly with the small baby in her arms.

"Sara, it's wonderful to see you," CC said.

"I haven't seen you since your sophomore year at Columbia," Sara said, running a hand through the long ponytail CC had clipped back.

"Not since your year abroad at Oxford, where you seem to have picked up more than an education," CC quipped.

Sara preened. "You'll adore Maxwell. He desperately needs a business partner."

"Business partner? I thought he needed—"

"I would never have recommended you if he only needed a secretary," was all Sara offered on the subject. She tilted the sleeping baby so CC could see her face. "Say hello to Aunt CC, Margaret."

CC gulped and was spared having to say anything with the arrival of Maxwell. He entered through a door and walked into the foyer.

Moments later, CC sat on a green sofa in Maxwell's office. Compared to the rest of the home, the office was sparsely decorated but contained a simpler elegance that CC enjoyed. It still wasn't necessarily her taste—she preferred sharp lines and black and white—but it certainly wasn't overdone.

"So, CC, I find myself in need of a secretary," Maxwell said, motioning to the papers scattered across his desk. Before he could finish, the telephone rang. "Ah, excuse me."

CC took the liberty to eavesdrop on the entire conversation, naturally, and smiled when she spied Sara sneaking onto the patio to listen. From what she could gather, Maxwell was having difficulty securing funding for his newest production. _Not surprising, considering his successes_, CC thought. It was best if she kept that to herself, she figured.

When Maxwell hung up the phone, CC cleared her throat. "Maxwell? If I may?"

It was clear he wanted to ask _if she may what?_, but Maxwell was an English gentleman at best and a bit spineless at worst. So he merely gestured for her to continue.

"If it's backers you need, you're going about it all wrong. You don't have a lot, which isn't surprising considering your successes, or lack thereof," CC said bluntly. She briefly considered working on her inner filter before plundering on, "You need backers who want a profit, not those interested in the arts. You're wasting too much time convincing people that your production is sophisticated, artistically driven, and classically referenced. You ought to be finding people interested in money, something that's innovative, new, and fresh.

"Too many people don't go to the theater anymore and it's _because _they think it's too sophisticated, artistically driven, and classically referenced. It's too limited. People want to be entertained and when people are entertained, you get sponsors and backers. You have an added bonus, of course, that it's related to the arts. Every company wants the arts on their letterhead, and if it's a flop, people will still get a tax credit.

"Provide them with contracts where they'll clearly see their profits and their cutbacks. It's encouraging for them and secure for you. Then they won't back out and you'll get your money either way. If it's a hit, they make a cut of it; if it's a flop, Uncle Sam takes care of the rest," CC finished.

Maxwell's eyes were wide behind his gold-rimmed glasses; from the corner of her eye, CC saw Sara give her the thumbs-up. For a moment, CC wondered if she'd been too brusque.

"Ah, well…CC, you've certainly given me a lot to think about. I…you certainly seem familiar with…with finances and contracts and things," Maxwell said.

"I ought to be. I majored in finance at Columbia," CC replied.

"Well, you're certainly…you certainly have valuable knowledge and skills that I could use at Sheffield Productions," Maxwell told her. He shuffled the papers in front of him, more from nerves than necessity, CC suspected. For once, she didn't mind how much she could intimidate men.

"I agree," CC said.

"Now, the salary for my secretary would be—" Maxwell began.

"Secretary?" CC repeated incredulously. After she'd just single-handedly clued him in about how to make a real profit?

"Excuse me?" Maxwell asked, his eyebrows raised. CC sensed she'd pushed him a bit far. On the patio, Sara was repeatedly slashing the air in front of her neck and mouthed that she'd discuss it with CC later.

"I'm sorry, Maxwell. I was just…excited that it seems as though I have the job," CC explained lamely.

Maxwell seemed appeased and described CC's salary, which wasn't enough to cover half of the rent on her new apartment. She didn't actually _need _the salary, though; she just needed to get to a place where her name followed his on the letterhead.

Maxwell and CC shook hands and agreed that she'd return tomorrow to sign her contracts. As CC shut the door to the office, Sara entered the hallway from the patio. She walked as quickly as little Margaret would allow, linking her arm through CC's as she led her through the living room.

"Welcome to the family," Sara said excitedly. "You won't be secretary for long. He just needs to adjust to the idea of sharing." CC smiled and barely nodded in the direction of the butler who'd opened the front door for her.

As the door shut, Sara sighed. "Finally, he brought someone else on board. Maybe now I'll get to see my husband."

"Hopefully," Niles replied, smiling down at the still-sleeping baby. Niles motioned to the blonde walking toward the sidewalk. "Who's your friend?"


	2. Part II

[A/N: Many appreciations to the reviews. I'm going for something a little different here, so bear with me.]

Part II  
Niles had become very adept at watching. His butler duties, or more appropriately _lack thereof_, often gave him ample amounts of time in which he could watch what went on around him. It didn't take an Oxford-educated man long to clean a toilet, especially one that was never used. Maxwell Sheffield had also employed too many for such a small family and estate, but Niles didn't blame him; the man was used to being surrounded by servants.

Niles had always been a curious person, interested in seeing rather than acting. He'd learned at a very young age, at the elbow of his butler father, how much a person could learn just by watching. His father had taught him those skills to excel at his lot in life; if the butler could anticipate that his master would be thirsty before the master need ask, that was an exceptional butler. His education at Oxford whilst accompanying Maxwell had only honed his skills, as he'd taken several courses that prepared him to be a barrister.

It always struck him as particularly cruel that Maxwell's parents had requested that Niles accompany his future master to university, but it wasn't in Niles' parents' natures to be inquisitive of their masters. Niles knew it wasn't to keep Maxwell in line—the man cowered in fear at the line and would never dare cross it—but rather to help him with his studies. Maxwell excelled in the arts and possessed a kind heart, but the sharpness of his brush strokes didn't quite mimic those of his mind. And so it was put to Niles, the chubby servant boy with such a bright mind, to watch over Maxwell.

Too often that had meant Niles completing the work _for _Maxwell, but the oldest Sheffield was always eager to learn how Niles solved the problems and analyzed the issues. Common sense wasn't something with which young Maxwell was particularly endowed, either, and it brought out a protectiveness within Niles. He didn't mind looking after Maxwell, whom he'd spent so much time around that the two were akin to brothers.

For a while, even, Niles and Maxwell seemed to forget what they truly were. It was during the summer months, when Niles had accepted a fellowship at a local business, that both sets of parents—Niles' and Maxwell's—had come down upon them. The blame went entirely to Niles, of course, who spent the summer refining his baking skills with his mother while Maxwell spent the time in the south of France with his own.

The smallest soupcon of bitterness coursed through Niles' veins, and it was always at its strongest when Maxwell's guests gushed over Maxwell's college-educated ward. It was such a gift, they regaled, to have a servant with half a mind. _It's hard to find good help these days_, Niles told himself silently. The talk inevitably turned to how Maxwell managed to keep him, at which point Max always changed the conversation to the marvelous statue in his foyer.

It was a question Niles used to ask himself over and over in his younger days, especially after he followed Maxwell to America. The strictures of propriety and the legality of contractual obligation seemed such petty things with an ocean between Niles and Maxwell's parents. With the Sheffields still employing his parents and his parents still heavily relying on that income, though, Niles knew there was little he could do. The Sheffields would support his parents for the rest of their lives and it was far too morbid for Niles to maintain hope of freedom after his parents were freed from that support.

Rather, Niles employed his trademarked British stoicism and accepted his situation as it was. Once Maxwell married Sara, the house became a home and Niles enjoyed the makeshift family that formed from it. There were also many more people to watch, so Niles' brain kept itself reasonably occupied throughout the day.

So the butler watched. He watched Maxwell Sheffield Productions falter and fall, only to rise from the ashes with the help of his new secretary. He watched Margaret grow into a chubby toddler and watched Sara's belly grow with Maxwell's first son. He watched Sara and Maxwell's relationship strain and eventually thrive when they got the rhythm of it. He watched Maxwell grow increasingly dependent on his secretary's counsel.

He tried watching the secretary as well, but she was one of the most inscrutable people he'd ever met. He could get a handle on most people, not because people were transparent but because Niles was so damn good at it. But there was something about this secretary, this _CC_, that he couldn't read and it fascinated him.

Her luscious blonde hair and bright blue eyes didn't hurt, naturally, but Niles knew enough to know his place. While he couldn't quite crack her shell, Niles could see well enough to identify money. Even if he were blind, he'd be able to hear money, smell money, and feel money coming off of her. This was a young woman who'd known virtually every luxury of life, and it hung about her like an expensively woven cloud.

He'd known what their relationship would be the moment he'd opened the door for her. She hadn't looked past him; she'd looked _through_ him. Here was a woman trained to ignore the help. She'd granted him the smallest of nods when he'd opened the door for her as she left, but even that was fraught with her upbringing. This was the _help_, not the servants, and help must be acknowledged. Niles had received enough tiny nods in his life to realize that.

Even though he knew they'd never have any sort of friendship, Niles still wiled away time by watching her. He was determined to figure out how that shrewd mind worked and the harder it was, the more ardently Niles tried. He watched as the secretary became the assistant, a move that he suspected was Sara's more than Maxwell's. He watched as she performed as much work as the executive producer and yet didn't receive so much as producer's credit.

Her eyes like blue ice ships smoldered with fire whenever Maxwell referred to her as his assistant, but the blonde bombshell remained silent. She remained less silent when the bawdier backers made comments about not minding having their _own _secretary, which gave Niles a strange sort of pleasure. It was a relief, at least, to know that this hyperintelligent secretary-turned-assistant had a spark in her.

It was mesmerizing, in a way, to track CC's time and growth in the Sheffield household. She and Sara became extremely close; at times, Niles even glimpsed a softer, more approachable side of CC when she and Sara would laugh like they were still prep school girls. The strain that CC felt in her relationship with Maxwell was obviously not evident in her relationship with Sara.

Niles watched as Maxwell passed on _Cats_, despite CC's insistence that it was a gem. He watched as Maxwell produced a cycle of reasonably successful plays followed by flops. However much Maxwell listened to CC's business and financial savvy, he refused to listen to her advice about the actual plays selected. On one of Maxwell's more stubborn days, Niles watched as the Babcock Volcano slowly rumbled and followed her hopefully into the kitchen, knowing this could be an opportunity to glimpse her mind.

"Water," CC ordered through clenched teeth.

"Sure you wouldn't want something stronger?" Niles asked innocuously.

CC rounded on him, her signature blonde ponytail swinging from her right to left shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"I was only wondering if you'd like something other than water, miss," Niles said, taken aback by her tone.

"If I had wanted something other than water, I would have asked for something else, servant," CC snapped. The force of her anger swept over Niles like a gale-force wind.

"I don't recall you _asking _for anything," Niles muttered. He stalked to the cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water.

"Well, you're a presumptuous little butler, aren't you?" CC shot back.

"Your water, miss," Niles said, giving an exaggerated bow and holding out the glass. CC didn't take it.

"Lemon," was all CC replied.

Niles stood and glanced around for show. "You seem to have taken all the lemons to color your hair, blondie."

For the slightest moment, Niles thought he saw a smile crack her face, but when he blinked, all he saw was a thoroughly pissed off socialite. She opened her mouth to reply but decided to storm off instead.

Niles grinned and had too much fun replaying the situation in his head to wonder why his heart was pounding so.

Any joy Niles felt lingering from their exchange dissipated the moment he opened the door the next day. He almost didn't recognize her, as her waist-length blonde hair was now a dark, mousy brown. It wasn't that Niles didn't find brunettes attractive—most of his girlfriends at university had brown hair—but it seemed that CC had chosen precisely the most bland, uncomplimentary tone for her.

It occurred to Niles later that she had. He watched as the brunette assistant quelled her retorts to her executive producer boss. He watched as she replaced her pencil skirts with baggy suit pants, chosen specifically to hide the curves even Maxwell noticed some days. He watched as the backers stopped making bawdy comments and started making financial ones. He watched as she pulled away from Sara, staying within the confines of her work-focused brunette assistant role.

Niles came to realize that he might never crack the shell to get the gooey woman underneath, but he could understand more about her by her actions. The fact that she came from money and probably had a decent amount but still worked as hard at work at Maxwell did indicated that she wanted more from her career than a paycheck. That she still worked for Maxwell despite the obvious obstacles for any sort of promotion was still a mystery to Niles, but he'd come to know in time.

Above all, CC's actions told Niles that she was a woman who desperately wanted to be taken seriously, and he suspected this desire ran deeper than wanting Maxwell to promote her.

Despite his better judgment, Niles followed CC out of the office one day. She stood silently, waiting for him to fetch her jacket. She gave him a slight nod as he helped her slip her arms through and then stood again, waiting for him to open the door for her.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Niles told her.

"I know, Niles, but I don't want to deprive you of the pleasure of opening doors," CC replied. "I know it's your favorite part of your job."

Niles almost threw back a jibe but stopped himself. He had a greater purpose here, and battle of the wits was not it. "I meant this act you're doing."

"Act?"

"The brunette with the Annie Hall getup," Niles explained. "It's not you."

"And how exactly do you presume to know who I am, servant?" CC lashed out. Her anger only proved his point.

"Miss Babcock, I know it isn't my place—"

"It's shocking to hear that you actually know you have a place, you stay in it so seldom," CC remarked.

"—but you're part of this family we have here," Niles continued as though she hadn't said anything, "and that means you can be who you are. Even if you are snide and snobbish."

CC watched him as though he were a poisonous snake who suddenly wanted to cuddle.

"You think that making yourself less beautiful means more men will take you seriously. You think that dressing like you have Maxwell's old suits means he might make you partner. And you think acting like a meek little mouse will win you respect. None of those things are true," Niles told her.

The most curious thing happened as he spoke: the blue ice chips turned into the Atlantic in August.

"Have a good evening, Miss Babcock," Niles said as he opened the door. CC left the house silently.

The next Monday, CC swept past Niles with a new blonde bob and a navy pencil skirt. As she closed the office door behind her, Niles heard her demand producer's billing on their upcoming production.

"Atta girl," Niles said with a smile as he shut the front door.


	3. Part III

Part III  
"Why are you still there?"

_Not an unreasonable question_, CC granted silently. But still not one she could adequately answer. Those who didn't know her were asking why she stayed with a company whose promotion scale was more like an Everest climb with Sheffield standing at the top, desperately yanking the rope up higher and higher so climbers could never grasp it. Those who did know her were asking why she even had a job when her bank statement read like a prosperous country's budget.

CC had gone through a bell curve with that question. When she'd first started at Sheffield Productions, she hadn't asked why at all. A couple of years later, when her name was still followed by "assistant," she began wondering a great deal more. Now, six years later, she had stopped asking herself altogether.

Her life used to be something she led with purpose and direction. She knew every step she took and she knew why she took it. The decision to go to college had been as easy as deciding to breathe. She was nothing like her sister DD, who seemed perfectly content to live the prescribed socialite existence. While she wasn't as scholarly-oriented as her brother, CC had more interest in intelligence than shopping. The girl was more attuned to her father's shrewd existence as the man who ran the puppet show. There was something in the _control_ of it all that enthralled her. So she elected to go to college.

It was after college that her steps began to falter and her reasoning was less than solid. She who was so interested in becoming the puppet master had in fact become the puppet, first to her mother and then to her father. The only chance she saw at becoming like her father was in working for Maxwell Sheffield.

But even now she wondered if she still wanted to be like her father. She couldn't claim to be as passionate about the theater as Maxwell was, but there was certainly something rewarding about theater production. Not rewarding in an artistic or financial sense, necessarily, but rewarding in its own way, with its clear beginning and end. The culminating finality had a beauty to it, a logic, a pattern, a purpose. That was what drew CC in.

As to what made her stay, she still didn't know. The only answer that made any kind of sense to CC was her inheritance, and it wouldn't even kick in for twelve more years.

Most days, though, CC was too busy or too content to continue questioning it. There was contentment in the oblivion of drowning oneself in work that made CC completely understand, but not entirely forgive, the absence of her father in her childhood. She briefly wondered what questions _he_ was hiding from but decided that was one stone best left unturned.

There was another type of contentment she felt, and it was strongest when Sara would invite her to stay for dinner or if she happened to arrive early enough for breakfast. No one ever asked why she showed up so early for a job they knew she didn't need. Even Niles was somewhat pleasant during meals, which was better than when he picked on her and miles better than when he ignored her completely.

None of this explained how she found herself in a pub a few blocks from the Sheffield manor one Friday night. She'd been attracted to the old fashioned dark wood and brassiness of the bar, and the warm, greasy smell of fish and chips brought attention to her rumbling stomach. It was even better that no one seemed to recognize her, which she considered its best incentive. She always ran the risk of being recognized on Park or Madison.

"Evening, love," the bartender greeted. CC smiled at the stereotype of it all, down to the bartender in a grimy white t-shirt with a spotted rag thrown over his shoulder. "What'll it be?"

Figuring that her usual vodka martini wasn't the staple of such an establishment, CC ordered a beer. "The darkest you have," she added.

"A girl after my own heart," one of the patrons said, holding his mug up in salute. "Mitch," he said, holding out his hand.

"Claire," she responded, shaking his.

CC became the instant darling of the bar with her bright blue eyes and her sharp wit. Halfway through her third beer, the discussion turned to why CC was frequenting such a place.

"Running from the law," a man whose slackened eyes suggested he'd had too many guessed.

_Running from something_, CC thought. Instead, she shook her head.

"You got lost and thought the fine gentlemen here would escort you to safety," another with a mop of hair called out.

"Aye, and instead she found you," his friend retorted.

When the laughter died, Mitch guessed, "A man did you wrong and you sought refuge here."

CC thought for a moment. That had a certain drama about it. How fun it would be, she figured, to be that girl. _Better than what I am currently_, CC thought. She raised her glass in a mock cheer and downed the rest of it in one gulp. "You got me."

A chorus of cheers went up, the excitement of a group of people with too much beer and not enough sense. "Tell me who he was, blondie, and I'll bring you his head."

CC almost laughed before she remembered she was supposed to be heartbroken. When the bartender refilled her mug, she took another sip and began her tale. It was an intricate, poignant one she wove, half of which was the plot of one of their plays and the other half an ode to what she'd wished her life could be.

The group hung onto her every word, and even the bartender stopped wiping the bar to listen. By the end of it, half the men were grinding their fists and the others were shaking their heads. CC almost preened at the freedom, the lightness of being someone else. Instead, her face remained a somber mask.

The patrons then reached that pivotal moment where they had to decide whether to drop into a depressed, drunken stupor or move into a raucous, drunken bout of fun. They seemed headed for the former until someone slid a quarter into the jukebox and an old English ditty swept across the room. Cheers rang up again and the entire bar rose at once, it seemed.

"I-I don't know this one," CC stammered.

"No worries, doll, we'll teach you," a younger man promised. He looked to be Mitch's son. CC downed the rest of her beer, smiled, and accepted his proffered hand.

Hours passed…possibly days, weeks, or years. CC was lost in another world, one she'd created without anyone else's influence, and she knew she could have stayed there forever. In this world, there weren't heavy questions about why she was here. She just was. In this world, there was only beer, and music, and friendly people. It was the type of world a girl could get used to.

Until she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist and slowly drag her away from the dancing troupe. Halfhearted protestations went up, most of them coming from CC herself.

"Eh, where's Claire goin'?" the droopy-eyed man asked. He'd consumed the most beer that evening and was still standing, so naturally he was the favorite. Aside from Claire, of course.

"It's Claire's time to go home," a British voice responded.

"Hey, you're British," CC said, craning her neck to look at him.

"Well spotted," Niles replied.

"But this is a pub. Shouldn't you be ordering chips and blessing the Queen?" CC asked, her face crumpling in confusion.

"And you're a Babcock. Shouldn't you be ordering lemon water and cursing your mother?" Niles shot back.

CC laughed, a long, loud belly laugh. "That's CC, silly. I'm Claire. I'm drowning my sorrows because my man up and left me. Did me wrong. Sent me on my way."

Niles stared at her incredulously. "Questions later. Let's get you back."

CC was about to ask him if he knew how to get to her apartment when her something-teenth beer kicked in and she slumped against his shoulder, too tired to talk.

When she stirred next, she was on a fluffy couch with a dim light glowing near her forehead. A soft wool blanket was thrown protectively around her. From the darkness of the room, she sensed it was still the middle of the night. From the pounding of her head, she sensed she had made some poor decisions recently.

"The mysterious Claire awakens," a droll voice quipped.

CC slumped back on the pillows and pulled the blanket up further as that lovely combination of shame and regret washed over her. "Claire?"

"Oh, I know you remember, and since I was the one who brought you back, I want to hear the story," Niles said, setting aside the book he'd been reading. It only occurred to her later that he'd been waiting for her to wake instead of going to sleep himself.

CC sighed. "I found the bar. It looked nice."

Niles chuckled. "I'm familiar with the pub, and it isn't a place people go because it's _nice_."

"I didn't mean nice like…I meant it looked comfortable," CC explained. "It wasn't like my usual places."

"No, there's no pomp or pretension found there," Niles agreed.

CC would have acted offended if it weren't so true. "So I ordered a beer and the men started talking to me—"

"No doubt they thought you were a prostitute of some kind. Women like you don't often frequent that pub."

"I'm not dressed like a—"

"I tease, Babcock," Niles interrupted gently. "They're good men. I'm sure they were friendly and curious about why you were there."

"They were. So I told them a story," CC said. She was suddenly embarrassed of her charade.

"Ahh. You became Claire the Wounded instead of Babcock the B—"

"Do not finish that sentence," CC warned.

"I was only going to say Babcock the Broadway Producer," Niles said innocently.

"I'm sure you were."

A few silent moments passed before Niles spoke up again. "Why?"

She knew what he was asking but feigned ignorance. "Why what?"

"Why the act? Surely you aren't ashamed of your life," Niles said.

"No, why would I be? My life's perfect," CC grumbled.

Niles rolled his eyes and brushed a small piece of lint off of his book. "Don't be the poor rich girl, Babcock. It's overdone."

CC sat up suddenly and regretted it immediately. When the blinding pain passed, CC glared at him. "I've spent my whole life feeling like it should be something else, something greater than what it is, because everyone's always told me how lucky I am. My mother's so glamorous and my father's so successful and my sister's so _perfect_. So what was I doing wrong? I can't figure it out because even though I'm so damn lucky and I have everything in the world, I still end up in seedy bars pretending to be someone I'm not."

Niles stared at the rug, silent. Something like shame crossed his face.

CC laughed bitterly. "And I didn't even do it to sleep with someone. Isn't that the usual accepted reason? I didn't do it to get attention or to get sympathy. I did it because I was _free_. There weren't questions or…or _obligations_ or…I wasn't me."

Niles nodded and stood, slowly walking over to the wet bar. He poured them each a small whiskey. Holding out her glass, he sat on the other end of the couch near her feet. "Cheers."

"Why? Because you feel sorry for me?" CC wanted to know, holding the glass with both hands.

"Because for once, Miss Babcock," Niles replied, "I think we have something in common."


	4. Part IV

Part IV  
The years were passing in the peculiar way that years often do. Often, Niles' days felt long and protracted but seasons flew in and out. It sometimes seemed to him that his life was like one of those flipbooks that little Master Brighton was so fond of, but Niles was neither in the book nor flipping it. Instead, he was the one watching in awe as it flipped under his nose.

He watched as little Gracie came into the world, so beautiful and intelligent even from the start. He watched as the family came together with such tantalizing warmth that Niles didn't mind being sucked in even if he didn't belong. He watched as even CC became a reluctant part of it.

Then the flipbook slammed closed. That one day came when the minutes slipped by like the rain that was pelleting down, when all anyone wanted to do was have it slow down. He watched as the rain lashed at the windows, the lights flickered, and the policemen came to the door. Little Grace was sleeping upstairs in her toddler bed. Maggie and Brighton were fighting over a board game near the fire Niles had lit to stave off the autumn chill. Maxwell sat back on the sofa, nervously glancing at the clock.

"She should be back by now," Maxwell muttered in the seconds before the doorbell rang. Curious, he pivoted in his seat. Even the children stopped squabbling.

Ever dutiful, Niles opened the door and saw the two uniformed men standing there looking grim. Even after they requested to speak with Maxwell Sheffield, he refused to get off the couch. He knew. Niles knew. The children didn't, and Niles experienced the most heart-wrenching agony when he looked at them.

One of the policemen took a hesitant step forward and asked if Mr. Sheffield would like to go someplace private to speak. Maxwell didn't respond, but Niles did.

"Yes, he would," he answered. "If you walk down that hallway and take a right, you'll find the dining room. Mr. Sheffield, go."

Maxwell stood and walked into the dining room, flanked by the officers. Moments later, a wail came rocketing down the hall and Niles felt his heart twist again. It was an animalistic sound, full of terror and grief. The children jumped and Niles could see Margaret grow suspicious.

"What was that?" Brighton asked.

Niles watched, as if in slow motion, the officers return to foyer. Maxwell followed at a shuffle, his eyes red and puffy. He watched as his employer bent down in front of his children and placed a hand on each of them. He watched as the truth crashed upon their tiny, tiny shoulders. He watched as they clutched at each other, desperate.

Later, he watched as they crowded her bed in the hospital. He watched as little Gracie reached for her mother, for the cords coming off of her. He watched as the line on the monitor went from bumpy to flat.

Time became a slow, dreary turning of the page. Niles watched as unendurable grief manifested itself in each member of the family. He watched as Maxwell fired every member of his household staff except for Niles. He watched as Margaret became withdrawn and sullen. He watched as Brighton pulled pranks on everyone he encountered, pranks that became increasingly malevolent in nature. He watched as little Gracie toddled through the halls as though searching for something. He watched as she attached herself to CC, the nearest likeness to her mother.

He watched as CC took over the business. He watched as she tried to disentangle herself from Gracie, watched as her eyes became glassy every time she gently pulled the chubby hand away from her skirt, watched as she inevitably picked up the sobbing girl and rocked her to sleep. He watched as CC looked over at him, helpless and lost, but Niles only turned away. He had no business helping anyone else recover when he felt so absent himself.

He watched as the family slowly picked up the pieces. Maxwell grudgingly returned to work and began the task of hiring an endless parade of nannies who lasted three weeks at the most. Grace grew old enough to disengage from CC and began to follow her older sister around instead. The warmth that once emanated from the group, now one less, became a more fragmented strain. But they tried.

In a way, it was easier for them. They still had each other. Niles was only an outlier, a servant who patched the holes and filled the missing places. But he was also a person who'd lost a dear friend, and he had no family to help support him. He still performed his job, he still watched, but he did it with a hapless apathy.

Had he been less involved in his grief, he might have noticed CC's, which nearly matched his own. It occurred to him later, of course, around the same time he realized that he never saw her cry over Sara. But Niles was in no way capable of looking past his own situation and so he sadly continued down his solitary path.

It was an ordinary day. The children returned from school and besieged Niles with requests—for snacks, for a clean uniform jacket, for help with homework. Niles set about immediately to help them, but he didn't find the glory he often did in the busy hustle. Instead, he felt a tension building in his shoulders and had to bite back his annoyance when Margaret didn't understand his explanation for her homework.

The children had finally cleared out of the kitchen when Maxwell blew in, informing Niles about a last-minute dinner guest. He rattled off a list of meal suggestions, all of which would take twice the time Niles currently had. Maxwell smiled blandly and thanked Niles before leaving the kitchen. CC entered a few moments after, and Niles hit his peak.

"_What?_ Would you like me to get you a glass of water that you could get yourself? Would you like me to shine your shoes? Would you like some bloody help with your bloody jacket?" Niles exclaimed.

CC's eyebrows raised and she blinked away the flash of anger Niles recognized. Instead of berating him, she carefully set down a glass with a small amount of amber liquid. "I thought you could use this."

Niles' shoulders slumped. "I…I'm—"

"Save it," CC interrupted. She pushed the glass across the counter and Niles picked it up deftly.

"I'd hate to drink alone," Niles said in a lame attempt to cover his shame.

CC held up the bottle she'd had behind her back. "You thought I'd bring you a drink and not come prepared?"

Niles chuckled as he reached in the cabinet behind him for another glass. He handed it to her, and she took it to fill with whiskey. "Cheers," he said, holding up his glass. They _clinked_ and then downed their shots.

"Another?" CC asked, holding up the bottle.

"I have a lavish dinner to prepare for one of your potential backers. I shouldn't." Even so, Niles held his glass out and CC poured. "Strange to have you serving me."

"Don't get used to it, manservant," CC replied, upending the glass. She brought over a barstool and sat at the island while Niles threw together the meal. As it was roasting in the oven, he pulled a barstool over on the opposite side of her. They toasted their third drink, which they both sipped at.

"Niles," CC began, swirling her glass upon the counter. "What are we doing here?"

Somehow, he knew exactly what she meant. "What are two well-educated people doing serving a man who neither notices nor appreciates our talents?" CC nodded. "I have no bloody clue."

CC nodded. "Me neither."

"You don't need this job," he remarked. It wasn't a question, but CC still nodded in agreement.

"What keeps you here?" CC asked.

"There are…circumstances," Niles said. He didn't wish to explain them to her. He didn't like explaining it to anyone, truth be told, but there was something even less appealing about her knowing.

CC seemed willing to accept his paltry answer. "I used to wonder a lot. Not so much anymore, but…after Sara…" CC stopped and finished her drink.

Niles wordlessly poured another. "We're both needed."

CC looked up at him. "You are."

"You are, too," Niles said quietly, staring at his glass.

"The little one doesn't cling to me nearly as much, sure, but…" she broke off. "I fit in when Sara was here. I had a reason."

"There's a…a group here," Niles said, his thoughts muddled slightly. For some reason, he found CC's perfume highly intoxicating. "A group of which you are a part. It's how everything operates here. More than your business acumen, more than Grace's need to have a grown woman around. You are needed here."

"You sound like you've given this some thought," CC told him. When he looked up, she was staring at him.

"I've been watching everything for years. I've nothing else to do," Niles explained.

"You've been watching me?" CC asked, her voice different.

"CC, where the bloody hell have you gone?" Maxwell asked, pushing open the kitchen door. "Ah, there you are." Niles carefully slid the whiskey bottle out of view.

"Do you need something?" CC asked, her voice returned to its normal tone.

"Yes, I wanted to discuss dinner tonight," Maxwell said. "This backer has been particularly stodgy and…"

Niles stopped listening as CC stood and followed him out of the kitchen. He placed their glasses in the sink and the whiskey on a shelf in the pantry.

_You are_, she'd told him with the same conviction she used when pushing her points on Maxwell. Niles thought back on what he'd then said to her, made more poignant when Grace traipsed into the kitchen to ask if Niles would read her a story before she went to bed that night.

_A group_, he repeated to himself as he served dinner in the dining room to Maxwell, CC, and the backer. _Of which you are a part_, he continued as he put plates in front of Maggie, Brighton, and Grace in the kitchen. _It's how everything operates here_, he finished silently.


	5. Part V

[A/N: Apologies x100 for the posting delay. Busy time of year. I plan to have this finished very soon.]

Part V  
CC sighed, shifting her bag further up her shoulder. She gnawed on her lip a few moments before she reminded herself to stop. It was up to her to pick her grandfather up from the airport, a task she pretended to carry out grudgingly. In truth, she adored her grandfather; he'd reached the age in which he felt completely free to say whatever crossed his mind. It made for some terribly entertaining holiday dinners.

Her heart fell a little when she found him next to the baggage carousel, his small piece of luggage near his feet. He was now almost fully wheelchair-bound, and he seemed more frail than the last time she'd seen him. Still, Edward Babcock had a smile that could warm a glacier, and CC felt it wash over her when he saw her and beamed.

"My favorite granddaughter," he said, lifting up his arms to give her a light embrace.

"You're just saying that," CC said with a grin as she pulled out the handle of his wheeled suitcase.

"Did anyone else come pick me up from the airport?" Edward tossed back as she pushed him out to the car. CC elected not to remind him that Noel lived in Illinois and DD in France.

CC laughed instead and as they made themselves comfortable in the car, the conversation careened to the family business, DD's latest extravaganza in Paris, her father's poorly chosen haircut, and CC's career. Happily, she boasted of Sheffield-Babcock Productions' latest successes. He watched her shrewdly while she prattled on.

When she finished, she turned in the car and looked at her grandfather. "Is this when you ask me if I have a boyfriend yet?"

"Oh, CC," Edward said with disdain. He plucked at his seatbelt and lowered it gently back into place. "I'm not your grandmother. I don't give a fig about that."

CC breathed a sigh of relief and looked out of the window at the increasingly heavy traffic.

"But," he spoke up. "I don't want you to be alone. Trust an old man on this. I haven't heard you mention any friends since Sara."

CC's face clouded over. "Sara was…she was a good friend."

"She was a wonderful friend. She looked after you."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me," CC answered quickly and automatically. It was the slogan of the independent everywoman, and CC had memorized it years ago.

"I said nothing of need," Edward replied airily. "You're a strong woman and you've always been that way. Ever since you were a little girl, you've proven to everyone that you don't need anyone. And because of that, you want someone to take care of you more than anything."

CC opened her mouth and found she had little to say. She often spent her time thinking about what was needed—what needed to be done (what Maxwell hadn't done), what needed to be fixed (what Maxwell had done), what she needed (food and sleep, mostly). She never truly allowed herself to consider what it was she wanted…or perhaps she had and had been unable to figure it out.

The silence that fell upon them then was nothing like the comfortable ones of the past. This one mirrored the oppressive heat outside: it lingered and hovered, its presence always felt and cursed.

CC silently thanked him when her grandfather began discussing the latest troubles on Wall Street.

...

The next day, CC entered the Sheffield home already panting and regretting her decision to wear a jacket over her sleeveless blouse. Niles entered the foyer moments later, his face slightly confused.

"I didn't hear the bell," he said.

"By the time you got your ratty old _tuchus_ here, I would've melted into a puddle on the doorstep," CC replied, shutting the door behind her.

"Well, well, look at the _shiksa_, speaking Yiddish," Niles commented. "And here I was thinking that water was your nemesis."

"Niles, it's too hot outside," CC complained. "Could you just get me some—"

Niles tossed her an ice-cold bottle of water and she gave him a grateful smile.

...

Later, CC sat behind Maxwell's desk, poring over contracts. She'd already sent them to their legal consultant, of course, but CC still preferred to look them over again. Maxwell had, at the behest of Nanny Fine, taken her and the children to the Y so they could swim. When CC had reminded Maxwell that it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday, Nanny Fine had replied that it was so hot, people weren't going to work anyway.

CC found it hard to argue with her—not because Nanny Fine was correct, but because in her world, that explanation was logical. It made sense, as Nanny Fine was better than anyone at finding excuses to not complete work.

In any case, CC wasn't annoyed. She often completed more work when Maxwell and Nanny Fine weren't around.

She had finally completed her perusals when her stomach let out a loud, rumbling roar. CC glanced at her watch, confused, only to discover that she had worked through lunch. She was weighing the benefits of Thai over Chinese when Niles pushed open the office door. He set down the familiar white cardboard box along with a pair of chopsticks.

"Here, the Chinese place a few blocks from here does a doggy platter special," Niles remarked, his hand clutched around a box of his own.

"Too lazy to make lunch?" CC said.

"The family isn't here. Why would I waste my time?" Niles tossed over his shoulder as he left the office.

CC smiled as she curiously opened the container.

...

The hours passed as CC made edits to the upcoming show's budget. She stared at the computer screen until her eyes ached. Slipping into a trance, CC jumped when a loud clap of thunder banged through the office. She glanced out the window and saw the sky turn black. Within seconds, rain lashed the windows and lightning cracked the sky.

"Hmm. I hope we don't—"

Thunder rolled, lightning cracked, and her computer screen went dark.

"—lose power," CC sighed. She sat behind the desk uncertainly, feeling the complete quiet settle over the house without the familiar hum of the air conditioning. It was disquieting.

A few moments passed and Niles entered the office. "All right, Babcock. Fix this."

"I don't own the electric utility," CC reminded him. Then her face lit up. "Although I bet I could. I should look into that. I'd disconnect the power every time your _telenovela_ came on."

"Yes, but as Satan's minion, surely you can harness some of that power so our AC can keep working," Niles suggested.

CC glared at him.

Niles sat down on the loveseat. "The telephones are still working. I rang the electric company and they say this entire area was affected, including your apartment building."

CC scrunched her eyebrows. "You asked about my building?" Niles opened his mouth to respond but he said nothing. He was saved from having to when the telephone rang. He jumped and snatched up the receiver.

From Niles' responses, CC deduced it was Maxwell on the other end. A few loud, nasal exclamations confirmed it.

"They're without power as well," Niles told her when he hung up. "Maxwell is going to take everyone to a hotel that has electricity."

"What about us?" CC asked, irritated. It was annoying enough that he'd left her to complete the work, but it was plain inconsiderate that he left her in a power outage.

"Us?"

"Me," CC corrected with a snap.

"Still depressed he chose the nanny, Babcock?" Niles asked.

CC rolled her eyes. "Hardly. You clearly haven't been paying attention." She pushed off the desk and the chair rolled smoothly away. Gathering some loose papers, CC slid them into her bag. She searched on the desk for a few minutes before she unearthed her favorite pen and stuck that into her bag as well.

"Where are you going?" the butler questioned.

"Home," CC replied.

"In this storm? The traffic lights will be out and your building has no power," Niles said quickly. "Were you planning on climbing 30 flights of stairs?"

"32."

"Pardon?"

"I'd have to climb 32 flights of stairs."

"Is that really the point?" Niles asked, his voice possessing a firmness she'd rarely heard before. "You aren't going out in this weather, Babcock. Everything will clear up soon and then you may leave."

She sighed and jumped slightly when another bang of thunder boomed through the skies. "Fine. I'll…I'll find some work to do."

Niles looked at her knowingly and smirked. "All right."

Minutes later, CC stalked out of the office and slumped in the oversized armchair in the living room. Niles leaned on the couch like the Cheshire cat, swirling a snifter of brandy in his hand.

"Shut up," CC said with the smallest hint of a smile on her face.

"What shall we do, then, Babs?" Niles asked, finishing his brandy.

She shrugged and sat up, looking around. "I never noticed how few windows are in here. It feels so dark."

"Your natural habitat," Niles remarked. He, too, sat up. "But I agree. I much prefer lots of natural light."

"Me too," CC replied glumly.

Niles stood abruptly and grabbed the bottle of brandy. "Follow me."

CC mirrored his movements and looked at his back inquiringly as he walked up the stairs.

Niles walked through the maze of the second floor and eventually stopped. He pushed open a door that squeaked slightly in protest as though it was rarely used.

"The solarium?" CC asked, though she didn't know why she did. She knew what the room was. It used to be one of her favorites, in truth; she'd often have lunch in it with Sara, with one or more of the children playing at their feet.

"It has the most natural light of any room in the house," Niles reasoned. "Plus, it has…" His voice drifted off as he pulled open a closet door and rustled around inside. "This!" He stood up and produced a slim cardboard box with a flourish.

"Monopoly," CC said.

Niles smiled broadly and his face displayed such a rare eagerness that CC laughed softly.

"Fine. But I get to be the thimble," CC said.

The weak sun shone through the glass ceiling, made gray by the storm clouds, and highlighted their activity. Both adults sat cross-legged on the floor, passing the bottle of brandy back and forth between them like two teenagers hiding from their parents.

Thunder fragmented their afternoon of dice on cardboard, heckling followed by laughter, and loud curses when one landed on the other's hotel-laden property. They called the game a few hours later when the darkness made it practically impossible to continue.

"You're just afraid to lose," CC teased as they stood and shook out their stiff muscles.

"We were locked in a dead heat," Niles replied.

"Yes," CC said, glancing down at Niles' piles of colored money, "that's the most money you've ever held in your life."

"Sad but true," Niles said with a shrug. "We should eat. I'll go see what I can prepare and look for some candles."

"I'll help," CC offered, the words feeling strange in her mouth. _They ought to_, she reasoned silently. _I've never said them before._

"No, stay here," Niles insisted. "I'd hate for you to trip or fall in this darkness. It'll be worse in the rest of the home."

Before she could reply, Niles had left the solarium, clutching the empty bourbon bottle.

CC sat back on one of the lounge chairs, looking up at the sky. It still looked darker than usual, the rain now invisible against the glass. She could still hear it, though, a faint patter that was more soothing than annoying.

Her mind inexplicably traveled back to her talk with her grandfather. Even CC couldn't ignore everything Niles had done for her that day. Much as she would like to, she couldn't ignore the things he quietly did for her every day. She shifted uncomfortably in the lounge.

Niles returned a while later clutching a makeshift dinner and as many candles as he could carry.

"What's for dinner?" CC asked.

"We have," Niles began, brandishing each item as he named it, "a bag of pre-popped popcorn, bread, peanut butter, and some chocolate chips for dessert."

CC nodded. "Not bad."

"I brought more water. It isn't refrigerated but you should still stay hydrated," Niles told her, handing her a bottle.

Somewhat sheepishly, she took it from him. "Thanks."

Niles busied himself by lighting the candles and casting a pleasant glow about the room. The flames reflected beautifully off of the ceiling. CC pulled open the popcorn and began munching.

They made pleasant small talk as they ate and resumed their Monopoly game after they'd finished dinner, as it were.

Later, Niles departed with one of the candles and then returned minutes later. "Here, Babs. Follow me."

CC followed suit and grabbed a candle as well. Niles led her around a few corners and paused in front of a room.

"You can sleep in this guest room," he told her. "My room's right there if you need anything." He pointed over his shoulder, at a door across the hall a few feet away.

"I don't have any clothes—"

"You can sleep in this," he said, handing her a bundle of purple silk. "It's one of Miss Fine's more sophisticated nightgowns. She hardly wears it."

"Oh," was all CC said. Though she might have acknowledged his kindness to herself earlier, she still had no idea how to respond to it.

"There's a bathroom right there," he said, pointing to a door to the left of hers. "I'll go get more candles for the room. I can bring you a book of mine as well, if you'd like to read before you sleep."

_How do you know I like to read before I go to sleep? _ she desperately wanted to ask. This compassion, this concern for her comfort, was foreign and yet enticing. It elicited some feeling in her she'd never experienced before, and a ball of something—panic? anxiety?—rose in her throat. She wanted to reach out, to ask him to stay, to tell him to go the hell away and be the mean Niles she was used to, to beg him to…what? Embrace her?

Instead, she remained silent as he walked off. She pushed the door shut and changed quickly into the nightgown, carefully folding her work clothes.

She returned to the doorway, holding the candle, just as he walked back, carefully holding four more. He stepped past her and placed the candles around the sparse room. He also set a book on the bedside table.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked. CC shook her head and watched as he walked past her into the hallway. "I can get you more candles, if you need. Oh, here." He rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a pack of matches. "In case you need them."

"Thank you," she said, feeling the words in her mouth. She spoke them so seldom.

"If you don't need anything else…" Niles let the sentence trail off as he turned to go. A soft glow from his room would lead the way. He'd left most of the candles for her.

"You take care of me," CC blurted out. Niles turned around questioningly. CC watched his eyes dart down to her chest and then watched as he yanked them up to her face.

"What?"

"You…" CC sighed. "Look, I appreciate the irony of that statement. I never thought I'd say it to you. But you look after me. You…you bring me water before I ask for it and order me lunch before I know I need it. I just wanted you to know that it…I…" She sighed again and before she could think about it, she grasped his hand lightly. "It doesn't go unnoticed."

She slipped her hand from his and closed the door.


	6. Part VI

[A/N: This story became something other than what I was originally intending, I think, but I'm still happy with it. Please R&R...and give me some more ideas of what to write!]

Part VI  
It wasn't fair.

No, no, that wasn't the only thing. It was something else. Something added to the "unfair" that made the unfairness of it all seem even more…unfair.

Niles sighed. She'd even ruined his ability to form coherent thoughts.

It was unexpected is what it was. So, Niles reasoned, if you add "unfair" to "unexpected," you would find yourself in his current situation. Which was, above all else, unfair.

"I need to get a bloody thesaurus," Niles muttered under his breath.

She was a snake, that's what she was. A snake that slithered in and took root under his skin…

No. No, that didn't make any sense. It would sense to reason that she'd be a parasite, then.

Yes, that's it. A parasite. She sucked the life from him and fed off everything he was and then slithered off to…

No. Then she'd be a snake again. Niles sighed again and landed at the bottom of the stairs with heavy steps.

It just didn't make any sense, truly. He was a man who watched everything and yet he never saw this coming. She was a part of this makeshift family, yes, and because of that, there was some strange tenderness among them all. It still didn't explain how this had happened.

Sure, there were indiscretions throughout the years. He'd come to learn more about her and she became less inscrutable as the years went on. He supposed it was only natural that things might happen between two people who spent so much time around each other.

But that was it. That was the problem. He'd always claimed to hate her, but he'd always spent so much time around her. He'd even sought her out on several occasions. And still, the man who prided himself on his ability to notice things had never noticed that. Until now, of course.

So they'd kissed. Twice. Then there was that time the power went out and she put on that silky nightgown and said he took care of her and grabbed his hand…Succubus, Niles cursed silently.

But then, of course, he agreed to take her to that awards ceremony for pay and then torn up the check. Idiot, he told himself.

The signs were all there. Perhaps it wasn't that she was evil; maybe the issue was just that he was unaccountably stupid. He'd been careening down that highway for years, ignoring the bright, blinking signs that spelled DANGER, NILES, DANGER. He'd driven blissfully, heedlessly on.

The day came when he woke up and knew he was in love with her. He'd cursed it, wished it away, ignored it, done everything short of moving to Siberia and living in a hut. But still it was there, pulsing and throbbing through him, a constant reminder of how much she'd captivated his pathetic, stupid heart.

It hadn't occurred to Niles how accustomed he'd become to his life. As much as he used to bemoan it with Miss Fine, his attempts to find a woman had always been halfhearted. Niles wondered if it was because he was so used to his life or if some part of him had known, even then. Either way, it was irrelevant now.

Still, Niles certainly wasn't used to his thoughts and dreams being occupied by a woman. He'd forgotten how thoroughly and completely he loved. Sometimes it was just exhausting.

Everything was, of course, tinged with the impossibility. It pervaded through everything until he resented himself for loving someone so unattainable. Beyond the class restrictions, beyond the embarrassment of his occupation, CC Babcock was not an easy woman to love.

No, that wasn't right, either. It was easy to love her. Far too easy. To get her, for lack of a better phrase, was the difficult part. She held herself at a distance from everyone, closing herself off. It was impossible to breach those walls.

No, Niles thought with a smile as the woman of his thoughts entered the kitchen and gave him a bright smile. Not quite impossible.

"You look like you've been thinking," CC remarked as she crossed the kitchen and slipped her hand into his.

"How could you tell?" Niles asked as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Your face looks pained," CC replied.

Niles made a psshh sound and dropped her hand, stalking over to the subzero.

CC laughed and hopped on top of the counter, her feet dangling like a child's. "What were you thinking about, lover?"

"You, which explains the pain," Niles retorted. He retrieved an apple from a drawer and tossed it over his shoulder at her.

"How did you know I was hungry?" CC asked.

What to say? That he knew she usually wanted a snack at this time of day? That, without realizing it, he'd been watching out for her all these years? "I heard your hooves and knew it was feeding time," he decided to say.

And how often had he done that throughout the years? Squashed what it was he wanted to say in favor of a biting insult, only to see her eyes light up and realize she was having fun, too. Was it possible, and if so, how, that he'd loved her all along and never acknowledged it?

He looked over at her as she bit into the apple, wondering when she'd fallen in love with him.

Niles supposed he might never know—knowing CC, she probably wouldn't be able to pinpoint it—but he recalled, with absolute perfect clarity, the moment when she became a little less unattainable.

…

He sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped. Books were strewn at his feet, interspersed with important-looking papers and several folded socks. In his own truly idiotic fashion, he'd decided to pack up and move out the very night he'd announced his resignation.

Where he expected to go was another question for another time. Niles couldn't understand anything about his recent behavior and he wasn't about to start questioning it. Taking Fran's advice to get his life moving and producing a play was one thing; taking Fran's advice to confess his feeling to CC was downright moronic.

He didn't know what he was hoping when he'd blurted out his proposal, but he knew with a degree of certainty that he was not expecting the look of pity that swept through her eyes. It wasn't necessarily the pity one experienced when passing a homeless person on the street corner, which was the type of pity he might have foreseen. Instead it was a sort of commiserating pity, one that spoke of empathy and camaraderie.

He didn't know what the hell that was about either.

But at this point, it was obvious that Niles needed to leave. The smallest speck of pride that was floating somewhere in his hapless frame needed to be protected like the rare diamond it was.

Perhaps he'd go back to England. Perhaps he'd move to a less expensive city where he could put his college degree to some random use. Perhaps he'd move into the forest and become a recluse, foregoing human contact and forgetting CC Babcock.

At this current moment, though, Niles felt all the fight leave him. He'd give almost anything to go back just three weeks when he told Fran about his feelings for CC. If he'd only kept it to himself, he could have gone on living his secret life of misery. But his big fat yenta mouth opened, out the truth came, and he'd been reaping the consequences since.

When he heard his door creak open, he closed his eyes in tandem with a heavy sigh.

"Mrs. Sheffield, please. I hope you'll understand that I don't want any more of your advice," Niles said.

"Then maybe you'll take some of mine." CC's voice cracked like a whip.

Niles opened his eyes and glowered at the pile at his feet. This woman would just never go away.

"Miss Babcock," Niles said helplessly. He'd intended to follow it with a sentence but the whine in his voice shocked him into silence. He heard the door close and he turned, hoping that she'd left.

"What the hell are you doing?" CC asked. There was no anger in her voice, only a ringing curiosity.

"I have no idea," Niles said, gesturing at the pile.

"No, what the hell are you doing with…this?" CC asked, moving her hand between him and her.

"I have no idea," Niles repeated.

"You didn't expect me to say yes," CC said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't a guess. It was said with the same certainty that one would use when declaring that it's raining outside.

Niles took a deep breath. "No."

"You wanted me to say no," CC continued. This wasn't said with the same conviction but it wasn't posed as a question either.

Niles looked at her fully, still seated on the foot of his bed. "What?"

"You wanted a reason. A reason to go, a reason to forget," CC continued. "That's the only explanation I have but the more I think it, the more sense it makes."

"I don't want to leave."

"Yes, you do. You have since you got here," CC told him. "You're an intelligent man, Niles, and intelligent men shouldn't spend their lives cleaning toilets. For whatever reason, you never left, but you always wanted to. And since you couldn't come up with enough courage, you put it on me. A broken heart, an evil woman…what better excuse does a man need?"

Niles wanted to respond but couldn't think of anything to say in his defense.

"Why did you always stay?" CC asked, walking over and sitting next to him. "And don't say because you love the family. They fall for it because they want to. It's more than that."

Niles sighed. With as few words as possible, and not looking at her once, he explained his family obligations and the contract with Maxwell's parents.

CC paused when he was finished. Niles chanced a glance at her and saw that she looked surprisingly angry. "That's horrible. His parents manipulated you."

"He doesn't know. Maybe he does, but we've never discussed it," Niles replied, looking down at his hands.

"It's baffling to me that he's never thought to question why his employees have stuck around," CC snapped waspishly.

"Why did you, then?" Niles asked.

"The truth?"

"No, I was hoping you'd lie."

"In the beginning, it was to secure my inheritance. My mother threatened to take it away since I hadn't found a husband in college, then my father swooped in to save the day…only to add the stipulation that I must extend the Babcock fortune into the theater business. It took me so damn long to convince Maxwell to make me vice president that I've been here longer than I planned."

Niles nodded, feeling righteous indignation on her behalf. "Are the Babcocks related to Machiavelli in any way?"

"Strictly Swedish. The resemblance is uncanny, though." CC sighed. "Do you want the real truth?"

"Only you could distinguish between the truth and the real truth."

"About 5 years ago, I spoke with the family lawyer. He told me there was no legal way that my parents could strip me of my inheritance, given that my grandfather is executor of the family finances. And in any case, my mother isn't a true Babcock so her threats were always empty. I consulted several more lawyers to make sure it wasn't a plot of my mother's to get the money. It wasn't."

"So you could leave? At any point?"

"Yes and no."

"You've lost me."

"Yes, I could leave and my inheritance is fully secure. And no, I couldn't leave for the same reasons you couldn't."

"Maxwell's parents contracted you, too?" Niles asked, fully confused again.

CC gave him a withering glance, the exasperated teacher looking down upon her hopeless student. "Look, Niles, I'm not the expert at talking people off the ledge, having spent so much time there myself. I usually look to you to bring me back, so I'm not used to this switch."

Niles stared awkwardly at the leg of his desk.

"Still, at some point, we have to acknowledge a few things. First, we could have left at any time. You could have found a way to support your parents. I could have looked into my inheritance law or stopped when I'd made my own millions."

Niles nodded, unaccustomed to her levelheadedness.

"Second, there was something that kept us here. Whatever it was, it was better to be here than somewhere else. Maybe we were miserable sometimes, maybe it wasn't always what was best for us, but at least it was here." He heard her take a deep breath. "At least we had each other."

Niles let her words sink in, along with the realization that they were having a true conversation. Several moments of companionable silence passed.

"I love you, you know," he told her.

"I know. You never gave me the chance to figure out how I feel."

"I know."

In a movement that made him happier than he'd ever been in his life, than anyone had ever been in any life, CC reached over and grabbed his hand.

"Have you figured it out?" he asked her, turning to look at her.

She smiled brightly, illuminating the shadowy room. "I'm starting to."

…

"Hello? Earth to Niles?" CC said, waving the half-eaten apple in front of his face. He came to, realizing that she'd hopped off the counter and was peering curiously at him. "What happened? Did you just have a stroke? I knew I shouldn't date such an older man."

Niles only grinned and slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him tightly. He heard a quick intake of breath before he pressed his lips against hers.

Several dizzying moments later, they separated and CC panted enticingly. "Are you going to do that every time I insult you? I might start doing it more often."

"What do you think I wanted to do all these years?" Niles replied, giving her hip a squeeze as he rounded the counter and began arranging things for lunch.

A few silent seconds later, Niles looked up and found her watching him with a smile he'd come to recognize as one she used only for him.

"What? Are you having a stroke? I knew I shouldn't date such an older woman," Niles said with a grin.

"I'm happy," she told him, her voice betraying her confident façade. These weren't confessions she made easily or lightly.

"I know, love."

"Are you?" she asked, a modicum of uncertainty creeping across her face.

"Yes," Niles said firmly, his eyes twinkling at her.

And they were.


End file.
